Deciding to live
by librarianmum
Summary: What if Severus Snape was giving the opportunity to choose his destiny?  What if Hermione Granger provided him with the means and the motivation?  Now with 3 epilogues - choose your favourite!  My first ever fic so please be kind!
1. Chapter 1

_This was inspired by that scene at the beginning of the 7__th__ film, with Severus Snape standing high up in the castle, looking down over the grounds of Hogwarts. It was such a bleak moment and he looked so lonely there that it made me wonder what was going through his mind – whether he had made up his mind at that moment that he would not survive the war. I felt it would be too painful for him to live beyond it._

_Well, anyway, it's my first ever fic, so be kind! But all constructive criticism is welcome._

_I couldn't decide whether to make it a one-shot or not. I have a vague idea that I might write 3 short epilogues with different outcomes for Severus' decision… or I might leave it to stand as it is!_

_All characters belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling._

Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood on the ramparts of Hogwarts Castle and watched the full moon high over the Forbidden Forest. At a quarter to midnight, the school was so silent he could hear the cold wind rustling through the bare branches, even at this distance.

In all his years here, as student and as teacher (with hardly a gap between – this had been his home for nearly 30 years), he'd never experienced this unnatural silence.

_The sound of absolute fear_. Abruptly, he turned away; fixed the blank expression that he always wore in public these days. _Never show emotion_. He strode through the castle, robes billowing. His senses were on alert as always; he wouldn't put it past one of those abominable Carrow siblings to be following him.

Ever since the anonymous note had arrived on his desk, his mind had been whirling and he had feared an encounter with a fellow legilimens, or worse still a summons from Voldemort. He'd kept to his office and tried to focus on paperwork.

He knew the writing – oh, yes, he couldn't forget that neat script, even though she'd written in block capitals to try to disguise her writing. He'd seen it too many times, on meticulously researched, carefully written essays that were always far too long (_did students think he had all night to mark, for Merlin's sake?_). The note had clearly been charmed to be read only by him and it had turned to ashes after 10 seconds. Just a place and time given. The Shrieking Shack. Midnight.

_Granger_… a vision of bushy hair, buck-teeth and that annoyingly prissy voice assailed him. Clever witch, but probably the most irritating child that had ever graced his classroom. He remembered the overgrown teeth caused by Draco's hex, and her tears at his comment: _I see no difference_. A mirthless smirk crossed his face as he took his own private route to the ground floor. _Silly little girl – did she really think he would be able to show any sympathy to a muggle-born in the presence of the Malfoy boy?_

He hoped she'd grown up a bit since then. He had no time or patience for over-emotional hormonal teenage girls, obsessed with their looks. Chances were that half a year on the run with Potter and the Weasley boy had matured her. In truth, he was impressed that they'd survived this long – clearly there was considerable forethought and some impressive magic being done to keep them out of the grasp of the snatchers, and he couldn't believe that either boy was intelligent enough.

How the hell was she going to manage this? The gates to the grounds were guarded by Dementors. If she tried the Hogsmeade entrance, she'd be captured within seconds of apparating into the village. She couldn't apparate directly into the grounds.

And… why would she risk it? He'd avoided thinking about the so-called 'golden trio' as much as possible. He knew they were out there, attempting to achieve Merlin knew what – some mysterious scheme of the old man's involving that wretched sword. Unless Dumbledore's portrait raised the topic, he tried to keep out of it as much as possible – the less he knew, the safer they were.

It seemed incredible to him that she would risk capture now. And could he risk it? For all he knew, she'd already been captured – was _this_ a trick, was his loyalty to the Dark Lord being called into question? But then wouldn't the note have been more obvious? Wouldn't it have been a more open plea from a former pupil to a teacher suspected of being a fellow conspirator? Or…wouldn't the Dark Lord be more subtle?

Could he take the risk?

For most of the day, he'd oscillated between determining not to go and being drawn back to the temptation. He'd concluded in the end that it was too dangerous – he couldn't risk betrayal after so many meticulously planned years as a double-agent. Not on the whim of a teenage girl, anyway.

In the end, he did go.

He Disillusioned himself and stepped silently into the grounds from a hidden exit near his old dungeon quarters – a route he'd used many times in his days as Dumbledore's spy. He strode quickly across the moonlit grounds towards the Whomping Willow, keeping in the shadows as much as possible.

As he crept down the passageway to the Shack, he cursed his curiosity. This was a crazy decision; he was risking his own life and the cause, and for what? _Stupid, stupid little girl_…

He reached the room where he'd had that encounter with Black years ago and hesitated. If she was going to be anywhere, it would be here.

All was pitch black; there was no obvious sign of occupation. _Well, Severus, it's now or never_… Counting to 3, he performed a non-verbal Lumos and strode into the room as the light flared from his wand.

Suddenly, his wand shot out of his hand. He spun, half-crouched, and stopped as a small figure stepped out from behind the door, his wand in her hand.

"My apologies, Professor. I couldn't take the risk."

_Really, Miss Granger? I'll see your non-verbal and raise you a wandless non-verbal._

He raised one hand imperceptibly and both wands shot towards him. She was thrown back against the wall with a satisfying thud.

He strode towards her, trademark sneer in place. "Are you entirely stupid, Miss Granger? You do realise that I could touch this mark to alert the Dark Lord? That would bring an end to your pathetic escapade very quickly, now wouldn't it?"

She peered up at him from her position on the floor, with narrowed, calculating eyes. "You _could_."

There it hung between them. He _could_. Yet, somehow she, of all people, knew that he wouldn't. Where did that assurance come from?

They stared at each other for a moment. His wand was pointing at her face; she crouched on the floor, tense and ready to flee.

"What mark did I give you for your fifth year Potions exam?"

She blinked at the sudden question then shrugged. "An Acceptable. And a warning that it would be a Troll next year if I insisted on merely churning out facts from the text book in my usual know-it-all fashion."

He sneered. "Happily for you, I never had the opportunity." He stepped forward and dangled her wand from his index finger. "And I suggest you put that away, Miss Granger, before I'm tempted to change my mind about calling the Dark Lord."

She sighed, pushed herself up and reached out to take it. As she stepped forward into the dim light from his wand, her features could be made out in the gloom, and it was the eyes that struck him first. Large brown eyes in a pale face smudged with exhaustion. The hair seemed to have calmed down somewhat and was scraped back into a ponytail. Her body was thin but wiry under her grubby sweater and jeans, but there were curves that he didn't recall before – or perhaps they had been buried beneath her school robes. There was a quiet strength about her; strength and wariness. _As well she might be wary_.

Ah yes, Miss Granger had grown up. Most definitely.

He sighed, suddenly exhausted. Much to her obvious surprise, he sat on the edge of the filthy mattress in the small room.

"Why are you here? You are not stupid, so you must know how dangerous this place is for you. There are alarms in Hogsmeade especially designed to pick up your magical signatures – any of the three of you." He rubbed his face, wearily. "The only reason there aren't Dementors swooping down on you at this very minute is because I have refused to allow the Death Eaters to have any control here."

She raised her eyebrows. "That's not entirely true, is it?"

He laughed; there was no humour in it. "You've heard about the Carrows? Believe me, they are the least of your worries. There are worst things in this world than inexpertly cast _crucios_, believe me." _Or at least crucios that have been watered down by my own counter-spells – not that the students know or care_, he thought, bitterly.

She hesitated momentarily before perching on a rickety rocking chair, her body still alert.

"I'm here because…" She hesitated, gazing at her hands, then looked up at him, intently. "Because you are in danger."

He stared at her in shock then suddenly laughed out loud. He couldn't help it – he was incredulous. "You are not serious, surely? Miss Granger, I have been in danger every day of my life since before you were born. Have you had a sudden … _epiphany_? What makes the danger any greater for me today?"

She frowned, gazing at the floor. "I know this is going to sound ridiculous but… well, Harry has been getting dreams again. We thought they had finally stopped, but last night he was in V – in _his_ mind again. And he's got plans for you. We – _I_ thought you should know, that's all."

"I see." He noticed what wasn't said in that speech. Potter and Weasley would be happy to let him rot. They'd hardly have gone out of their way to help him even before he killed Dumbledore, but now… He eyed her, intently.

"And what makes you think it is worth risking your personal freedom, to say nothing of Potter's, to inform me of that fact?"

"I couldn't let an innocent man die when I had the knowledge to make a difference." Her voice was level and calm now, but she seemed unable to meet his eyes.

He laughed again. "_Innocent_?"

Her eyes flashed up to his. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he registered that they were light brown, almost hazel, with long dark lashes. He didn't think he'd been close enough to notice before… or perhaps simply not interested enough to look. This new Granger was hard to fathom – for years, she'd been merely an irritating sidekick to the detestable Potter. Apart from habitual classroom sneers, he didn't think he'd addressed her directly before.

"Yes, innocent." Her gaze was knowing and there was a faint impression of a smile about the lips. "Give me a _little_ credit, Professor. Don't you think I noticed the Headmaster's hand? And when Harry told us about the hor-" She stopped abruptly, as if aware that she was giving too much away. "Well, let's just say that it became obvious to me that Professor Dumbledore did not have long to live… and that he would hardly wish to fade away gradually or put us all at risk through his weakening leadership."

She stood and began to pace, restlessly. "I didn't realise at first, of course. But, bit by bit, it began to make sense to me. I haven't talked to Harry or Ron about it – things haven't been all that good between us at times, and I knew they wouldn't take it well. But… well, I knew that you wouldn't have killed Dumbledore unless he had wished it."

She stopped pacing and faced him expectantly. Clearly, despite her words, she wasn't quite sure and she looked to him to confirm or deny it.

He could deny it – could call the forces of evil upon her; could leave her to her fate. And he would be safe – as safe as he ever was these days. But…

He made up his mind and looked directly into her eyes. _Let her see the truth in my eyes. Let someone believe in me, just for once._

"You are right, of course," he replied, evenly. "I suppose I should not be surprised that Miss Granger, of all people, should realise the truth."

She drew a shuddering breath and her face broke out into a smile that was almost dazzling in its intensity. "I knew it! I knew you would never betray us!" She leaned forward, eyes shining.

For an instant he lived in those shining eyes and felt the force of her joy… _Yes, yes, believe in me…_

Her hand reached out towards him, and he shrank back instinctively and felt iciness descend once more.

"You realise that your knowledge makes you dangerous, not just to yourself but to me too. If you are caught, so am I, and this school will fall into much harsher hands than mine."

Her hand dropped and she looked away, sobering instantly. "I understand." Her voice was colder, more business-like, and he caught a glimpse of the steely resolve that had clearly kept her going during several months on the run from terrible danger. She seemed to take a moment to get her emotions under control. When she faced him again, her eyes were guarded.

"Anyway, I couldn't live with myself if I hadn't at least warned you. _He –", she swallowed. "He_ intends to kill you when you are of no further use to him. Harry thinks he intends to use Nagini."

_That repulsive serpent_. Severus repressed a shudder. He'd seen it in action enough times – the thought of being its next victim made him want to vomit.

He forced himself to look at her. "Very interesting," he responded, forcing levity into his voice that he did not feel. "But tell me, Miss Granger, what am I supposed to do with this information? I am the Dark Lord's _creature_." He spat the last word out. "If he chooses to dispose of me in such a manner, there is very little I can do."

"You expect to die." She gave him a level look. "It is not your intention to survive this war. Is it?"

He sighed. "I never expected to survive this war. My purpose for the last 20 years has been to be as useful as I can for as long as I can. I never expected to survive Dumbledore."

"But you _did_ survive! You _did_!" And suddenly she was kneeling in front of him, clutching his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull his arm away. Her face was close to his, her eyes glittering with some strongly repressed emotion that he didn't dare try to interpret.

"Don't you see? You're a _survivor_, Professor. You can survive him – you _can_."

Despite his self-control, he could feel himself getting caught up in her emotion. He took a shaky breath and tried to steer the conversation into a safer direction. "Rather pointless to call me Professor now, is it not?"

She leaned back on her heels, shrugging. "What else am I to call you? You are my _potions_ professor – that's all I know you as. That's all you've ever been to me, no matter what happened on the Tower that night."

"Is that _all_ I mean to you?" He couldn't help himself. He almost knew, but he needed to hear it.

She flushed slightly and looked away defiantly. "All." The word was a whisper.

He clenched his fingers to stop them from trembling, and deliberately made his voice steady. "You are a poor liar, Hermione."

Her head shot up at his deliberate use of her first name, and she stared at him in disbelief.

He grimaced. "Even you would not risk Potter's safety for your 'potions professor'. You are too intelligent to take that risk. Your head wouldn't let you…but your heart…well, that's a different story. I used to think you were wasted in Gryffindor, but now I am not so sure."

She gasped and put her hand over her mouth. Her eyes fell to the floor, clearly unable to look at him and see the dawning comprehension in his face.

He reached over and placed a finger under her chin. Her head came up and he saw unshed tears in those warm eyes. "Professor – I don't… I don't know why…"

"Neither do I," he croaked, his voice suddenly choked. Whatever he might feel for her, this little girl - _not so little, not such a girl_ his traitorous inner voice told him – he couldn't help but be moved by her feelings. When was the last time that someone had felt anything but contempt for him; when had anyone _willingly_ interacted with him without necessity? It was an indulgence but for a moment he revelled in the feeling.

His thumb gently traced her cheek; he noticed her eyes fluttering shut as she leaned into his touch. "You are a fool. You know that, don't you?" He sighed and took his hand away from her face. "You have allowed yourself to develop feelings for a dead man. What is more - an old man, ugly in face, and thought, and deed."

He got up abruptly and she shrank back, still on her knees, as he started pacing angrily. "Any association with me would corrupt you. You think you can redeem me?" He stopped and faced her. "You are wrong. Some things… some deeds…can never be redeemed. You should wish me dead – do you know why? Because then you can mourn me, elevate my memory, do whatever the hell you like…and then move on. Marry a Weasley, have a family, finish your education, change the world for the better."

He knelt in front of her and clutched her hands. "Do _not_ allow yourself to have feelings for me. _Please_, Hermione – Miss Granger?"

She breathed out, wonderingly. "You called me Hermione…"

"Oh _hell_," he bit out. He backed up, got to his feet and held his hand out to her. "Stand up, please, H- Miss Granger. Now is not the time, believe me."

"Then _when_ is the time?" Her eyes flashed with sudden anger.

"_Never_." He sighed at the frozen look on her face. "Look, Miss Granger, I am…_flattered _by your feelings. I cannot say, in all honesty that I return them…that is to say, if there were time…if I could…" He abandoned the dangerous path of his current thoughts. "Look, the reality is that you – _we_ are in a war and this is a dangerous place for you to be. We should not be wasting our time discussing what can never be. I have schooled myself to expect death, and death is what I will receive. You – you can escape death. You have a chance to live. Do not waste that chance."

"But, don't you see? Now that you know what the future holds, can't you change things? Alter the odds in your favour?" She stood in front of him, her eyes intent. "You're still a potions master, Severus. If anyone can find an antidote, it is you."

He noted the _Severus_ with one part of his mind, but didn't allow himself to dwell on the luxury of those syllables falling from her warm voice.

"Even if I could find the time…" he turned away. "What difference would it make? I don't have enough information, Hermione. And how would I administer an antidote? I might be in no condition to save my own life, even if I could brew the means."

She turned away from him and raised her shaking hands to the back of her neck. He watched curiously as she released the catch of a long silver chain and pulled it out from under her jumper. She turned back to him, took his hand and dropped the chain in his palm.

"What is this?" It resembled some kind of charm necklace. There were several small items linked onto the chain. Squinting carefully, he could see that they were small, exquisitely crafted vials with silver stoppers.

She gestured towards them. "Shrinking charm. If you do manage to create something, you could store the contents in these vials. 3 taps on any vial will enlarge it to normal size, 3 more will shrink it again, and they are charmed to only respond to you or me. This one-" she pointed at one vial that had a gold stopper instead. "This is an unregistered portkey. It will transport you 1 mile in any direction, which might be enough to save your life. Just turn it 4 complete rotations anti-clockwise."

"This is advanced work…" he murmured, impressed.

She shrugged. "I worked on it last year. I was hoping to submit a proposal for an advanced research project combining Charms and Potions. My 2 favourite topics…" She hesitated, clearly thinking wistfully of her ruined education, then shrugged. "Anyway, it seemed a good idea to take it with us when… well, you don't need to know that. The main point is the unregistered portkey. Oh, you needn't worry – I have another, in case we need it."

He had been about to return it to her but dropped his hand again at her last words. It was not such a bad idea really… And he still had those notes that he'd made about Nagini's venom after Arthur Weasley had been bitten. Yes, it _was_ possible…

"Will you do it?" She was looking at him intently. He could drown in those warm brown eyes, he realised… Had anyone ever looked at him quite like that?

Pushing the treacherous thoughts from his mind (_wrong time, wrong place, just plain wrong in every way_) he pocketed the chain and turned away, deliberately brusque. "Possibly… Miss Granger, I appreciate the visit, but you will be putting us both at considerable risk if you stay any longer. How do you intend to leave? Or… actually, you should not tell me. The less I know, the safer you are."

He heard her shifting around, clearly uneasy. "I know that. I have a way…"

"Then I suggest you use it." He kept his back turned; it was easier that way. "Good night, Miss Granger."

He heard her move away. That might have been it but for the instinct that caused him to blurt out, "Miss Granger… Hermione… we may never meet again, but I would like you to know that you were always one of my best students, even if I was unable to convey that to you. You were always – you were –" He couldn't complete the sentence; the words choked in his throat.

He heard her soft steps coming towards him. He shut his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

Her voice, when it came, was close to his right ear; the warm air of her breath fanned his neck. "You have a chance to choose life… Severus, please choose to live, _please_… Not for me, not for anyone else… but for you. Make that choice."

She grasped his arm and he froze as she stood on tiptoe and touched warm dry lips to his cheek for a moment. His eyes squeezed shut and he shuddered, releasing a trembling breath. When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.

Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, pressed a finger to that point on his cheek that still tingled with the breath of another living being. His other hand reached into his robes and clutched a small silver chain.

And Severus Tobias Snape, at the age of 38, decided to live.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your reviews, they are much appreciated! I've been asked to carry this story on, which I may do as a separate story, but I'm sticking to my original plan here._

_Ok, so here's the thing. I just couldn't decide what would be the best outcome for my heroes. I'm a big fan of Severus/Hermione but I often wonder whether that would really be the best outcome, particularly for Hermione. So I've produced 3 epilogues, all set 20 years in the future, giving different versions of how things might have turned out. Some of the text is identical, or pretty similar, in each. It's really just an exercise in how I can make things turn out by little tweaks in the writing. Would be interested in knowing which one you like best/think might be most likely to happen!_

_Oh, by the way, the text at the beginning in italics is from the Deathly Hallows. And all characters belong to JKR of course._

_Ok, so here's the first one. It's a bit angsty, I'm afraid – the other 2 are a little happier (well possibly, anyway):_

"_Look … at … me…" he whispered._

_The green eyes found the black…_

In the end, it was Hermione who stood by, watching in horror as Harry collected the substance in a flask. And it was Hermione who pushed Harry aside and fumbled frantically at the collar of Snape's robes.

She breathed out hard when she saw the glint of the silvery chain against his thin neck. "Thank god, oh thank god – you did it, you clever man!" With shaking fingers, she found the vial with the stopper and twisted it around, clasping the unconscious professor's shoulder with her other hand.

There was just time to glance over her shoulder at the astonished boys. "I'll try to get back when I can… I'm so sorry, I can't explain now –" and then she felt the dizzying sensation of the portkey. It slammed them down on the ground hard somewhere just outside Hogsmeade, and Hermione felt Severus grunt in pain. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck, as she tapped the vials to enlarge them. There were 3 – one she recognised as essence of dittany and poured it liberally over his wound.

It was unclear what the other 2 were, but the man was clearly fading fast, so she took a deep breath, grabbed the back of his head to steady him, and poured them both into his gaping mouth.

She dropped the vials, gathered his head onto her lap and gazed down at him in despair.

20 years later, a village outside Granada in Spain.

The local children called her a witch – which was ironic, all things considered, as it had been years since she'd done any real magic – in public at least. Her magic was in her healing. She had power that even the local doctors respected, even though they did not understand it.

She was a foreigner, of course, even though she'd been living in this village for at least 15 years. The villagers treated her with some suspicion, but despite that, would tramp up the dusty hill to her small house whenever they had a complaint that modern medicine couldn't fix. Her poultices soothed their arthritic shoulders; her herbal medicines cured coughs and fixed poorly stomachs. She had attended difficult births when asked; had pulled forth distressed infants that might not have otherwise survived their traumatic arrivals into the world. And she had gentled the last days and moments of people leaving this world.

She had relatively few friends. There was a small wizarding community in Granada, and she regularly made the journey there to sit in a café with them. They would discuss the latest news in their world – new Ministry regulations; Harry Potter's ascent to power. As far as her friends were concerned, she'd been at Hogwarts and had played a small role in the battle over Voldemort, but no one knew who she really was.

She made these trips by car. She'd never mastered a broomstick and found apparating too tiring these days. She suspected that her overuse of that skill during that last year with Harry and Ron had exhausted her abilities.

It was a rusty old car, but it served her well. She turned off the main road and moved slowly, carefully down the stony, dusty track into the village. She lived just above the village, with a good view over the valley, in a position with reasonable precipitation and good soil for her plants. Her house sat low against the hillside; the back of it actually built into the hill, which kept her rooms cool in the heat of summer and cosy in winter.

She parked the car at the side of the house, jumped out and paused. There were footprints in the dust – not a local; they had the tread of designer walking boots. She hesitated, then walked forward quietly, her hand drifting to the wand stashed in her jeans pocket, just in case…

As she turned the corner, she could see a short, rather stocky dark haired man standing by her front door, his back to her, looking out over the valley. She stopped, a lump forming. She'd know that figure anywhere.

"Harry… oh _Harry_…" she choked on the words, but he heard her and turned around. A little older and a slight paunch, but the same smile, same piercing green eyes behind the same glasses. He reached out for her and she ran into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder.

They stood there for minutes – or hours – she couldn't tell, before he drew back, peering into her tear-stained face.

"How long has it been?"

"Five years, at least. Oh, _Harry_. I've missed you so much." She laughed now, wiping away her tears. "Why do you stay away so long?"

"Yes, well –" He looked suitably embarrassed. The Ministry, you know… And James graduated this year."

"I had heard. Unlike certain people, Ginny _does_ write, you know. Thank goodness she does, or I'd never hear what the two of you get up to! She tells me that Ron is getting married again? How do Rose and Hugo feel about that?" They turned back towards the house.

"Great – I mean, I only hear about Rose through Albus, but I think she's OK about it. Hugo is looking forward to getting a new mum. She's a lovely person – you'd like her."

"I'm glad for him. I know the last few years have been difficult since Susan's death. I was so sorry to hear about it – I wish I could have been there to help in some way…"

Harry stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Please, _don't_, Hermione. We all know why you stayed away. You couldn't have come back. Ron understood that; we all did. Doesn't mean we didn't miss you being around, though."

She sighed. "And no one else knows, still? Apart from the Weasleys and you?"

He squeezed her arm, gently. "As far as the world is concerned, Hermione Granger died by the hand of a rogue Death Eater while trying to save the life of Severus Snape, who was posthumously decorated for his bravery. No one knows what became of your bodies, but your names are on the Wall of Remembrance by the lake at Hogwarts. Next to each other, incidentally."

"I wish I could see it…"

"We all respect your desire for privacy, Hermione."

She smiled at him. "You must be tired from your journey. Did you apparate direct? Let me get you a drink… and are you staying for dinner?"

They sat in Hermione's shady garden late into the warm summer evening, sipping wine. Hermione was eager to hear about old friends. She rejoiced and wept over good and bad news.

As the sun set, Harry sighed, looking over the slope of the hill and the twinkling of lights in the village below. "I can see why you moved here. It's a beautiful location, but it must be lonely…?"

She smiled sadly at the question in his remark. "No, there's no one in my life. You know how I…" She swallowed and looked away for a moment. "Well, you didn't know at the time, actually."

"But we do now." His eyes were kind and his voice very soft as he looked at his old friend. Age had been kind to her – at 38, she still looked 25 at a certain distance, but she was, as always, a little too thin. Closer to, he could see that lines, perhaps more from the strong Spanish sun than anything, had appeared in the corners of her eyes and mouth. As she turned to look at him again, the warm brown of her eyes glowed russet in the last rays of the dying sun.

She couldn't speak, so he said it for her. "If only you'd been a little faster; if only you'd known what he needed you to do. When we found you with his body, it was very clear – would have been clear to everyone – how you felt about him. And when we found that letter addressed to you in his office…"

"Yes." She nodded, firmly. She looked around, at the little white cottage, the neat rows of plants and herbs stretching up the hillside behind them, then stood up and moved towards the lip of the hill, gazing down at the valley, at the thin stream that trickled down towards the village.

"This was his, you know. He bought it with his remaining savings before the battle. He'd seen it before the war – years ago, while he was travelling around collecting samples for his potions. It was his dream. After … that night… when I saw him at Hogwarts… he remembered this position and the empty ruin. He came here and saw that the place was still abandoned – he found the owner of the land and bought it off him in secret.

"And I…" She waved a hand over the house, the land. "I was the one who lived his dream. He left it to me, did you know that? That note was his will, and everything he had was mine. I sold Spinner's End and used the money to rebuild the house, dig out the garden, everything you see is my work. He left notes, plans, recipes for healing remedies."

He refilled their wine glasses, picked them up and walked over slowly to stand beside her. She kept her eyes averted as she accepted her glass from him, but he could tell by the thickness of her tone that she was crying again.

"And you? What's _your_ dream, Hermione?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, Harry. I like my life here. It's simple, the work I do is worth-while, in a small way, I suppose… It's – it's –"

"Safe? Dull?"

She glanced at him, quickly. "Maybe. It's certainly peaceful."

"Hmm…" He looked out over the valley, carefully avoiding her gaze. "You know, there's a Healers' conference in Glastonbury in October. Could be a good opportunity to make an announcement. And your skills would be very welcome in Britain, you know."

She tensed slightly, then let out a sigh. "Oh, Harry, I don't know… All the publicity. You and Ron coped well, but it must have been so hard, those first years."

He put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Things have calmed down a lot since then. Ginny is now editing the Prophet –did she tell you that, by the way? Once Lily left for Hogwarts, she rose up through the ranks very quickly – was bored with the kids being away from home. Between us, she and I could control any publicity you get. "

There was a silence. He sighed. "Look, Hermione. No one doubts your commitment to Severus – none of us who know, anyway. And there's nothing to stop you carrying on his legacy here. Why not train up an apprentice? You'd make a great teacher. Neville would give anything to have you as a guest lecturer at the school. And you can expand Severus' business into Britain, then. I know you export your potions to other parts of Europe – I know all this is just a cover for the real work you do."

She smiled through her tears. "What _don't _you know about me, Harry Potter?"

He grinned. "Well, I have a great team of aurors, headed up by one Mr Ron Weasley. You didn't think Ron wouldn't have kept a close eye on you over the years? Did you think we really believed that you'd choose to retire to a small village and do no potions research at all?"

"Hmm, I should have guessed." She gazed over the view. Maybe he was right, maybe it was time.

"Shall I say it or will you?"

"I will…" They turned to each other and clinked glasses. "To Severus Snape … potions master, healer, a good man who chose to live after his death…"

"… and the bravest man I ever knew," Harry whispered.

They held hands and drank as the evening darkened and the bright stars appeared over the little village.


	3. Chapter 3

_Text at the beginning in italics is from the Deathly Hallows. And all characters belong to JKR of course._

_Here's epilogue 2 – which is how I would have liked things to turn out:_

"_Look … at … me…" he whispered._

_The green eyes found the black…_

In the end, it was Hermione who stood by, watching in horror as Harry collected the substance in a flask. And it was Hermione who pushed Harry aside and fumbled frantically at the collar of Snape's robes.

She breathed out hard when she saw the glint of the silvery chain against his thin neck. "Thank god, oh thank god – you did it, you clever man!" With shaking fingers, she found the vial with the stopper and twisted it around, clasping the unconscious professor's shoulder with her other hand.

There was just time to glance over her shoulder at the astonished boys. "I'll try to get back when I can… I'm so sorry, I can't explain now –" and then she felt the dizzying sensation of the portkey. It slammed them down on the ground hard somewhere just outside Hogsmeade, and Hermione felt Severus grunt in pain. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck, as she tapped the vials to enlarge them. There were 3 – one she recognised as essence of dittany and poured it liberally over his wound.

It was unclear what the other 2 were, but the man was clearly fading fast, so she took a deep breath, grabbed the back of his head to steady him, and poured them both into his gaping mouth.

She dropped the vials, gathered his head onto her lap and gazed down at him in despair… that turned to hope as his pulse started again and he began to gasp for air.

20 years later, a village outside Granada in Spain.

The local children called him a wizard – which was ironic, all things considered, as it had been years since he'd done any real magic – in public, at least. His magic was in his healing. He had power that even the local doctors respected, even though they did not understand it.

He and his wife were foreigners, of course, even though they'd been living in this village for at least 15 years. The villagers treated them with some suspicion, but despite that, would tramp up the dusty hill to their small house whenever they had a complaint that modern medicine couldn't fix. His poultices soothed their arthritic shoulders; his herbal medicines cured coughs and fixed poorly stomachs. His wife had attended difficult births when asked; had pulled forth distressed infants that might not have otherwise survived their traumatic arrivals into the world. And she had gentled the last days and moments of people leaving this world.

They were often seen about the village, shopping or strolling around. He was polite but taciturn and occasionally moody – in appearance tall and thin with straggly dark hair, turning slightly grey. His much younger wife was more friendly, smiling gently at the children despite the suspicious stares that they still received despite so many years. They both spoke fluent Spanish. She might have passed for Spanish with her tanned skin and deep brown eyes, but his pale skin spoke of a much cooler climate.

Observers often noted that they did not speak to each other much, just walked beside each other at a slight distance, although occasionally their shoulders would brush in a way that seemed not entirely accidental. And sometimes, they would look into each other's eyes for a few minutes, as if in silent communication. There was no doubt of their mutual accord, even if they did not choose to be demonstrative.

They had relatively few friends. There was a small wizarding community in Granada, and they both (or occasionally just she) regularly made the journey there to sit in a café with them. They would discuss the latest news in their world – new Ministry regulations; Harry Potter's ascent to power. As far as their friends were concerned, they had been at Hogwarts and had played a small role in the battle over Voldemort, but no one knew who they really were.

They made these trips by car. She'd never mastered a broomstick and found apparating too tiring these days. She suspected that her overuse of that skill during that last year with Harry and Ron had exhausted her abilities. He was happy to travel by Muggle means, having been brought up partly in that world.

It was a rusty old car, but it served them well. They turned off the main road and moved slowly, carefully down the stony, dusty track into the village. They lived just above the village, with a good view over the valley, in a position with reasonable precipitation and good soil for their plants. Their house sat low against the hillside; the back of it actually built into the hill, which kept the rooms cool in the heat of summer and cosy in winter.

They parked the car at the side of the house, jumped out and paused, glancing at each other. There were footprints in the dust – not a local; they had the tread of designer walking boots. They hesitated, looking into each other's eyes, then nodded and walked forward quietly, their hands drifting towards their wands, just in case…

As they turned the corner, they could see a short, rather stocky dark haired man standing by their front door, his back to them, looking out over the valley. She stopped, a lump forming. She'd know that figure anywhere.

"Harry… oh _Harry_…" The man turned, and she ran forward, throwing herself into his arms.

Severus stood back, as the two old friends hugged each other. Then he stepped forward and held out his hand formally.

"Mr Potter, I presume?"

Harry let go of Hermione and held out his hand. "Harry, please. And may I call you Severus?"

"You may… Harry." They shook hands, green eyes meeting black once more, searchingly. Harry gave a little nod of reassurance and the trio turned towards the house.

"How long has it been?"

"Five years. Too long, Harry!" Hermione bashed at his arm, teasingly.

He looked embarrassed. "Well, you know, with the Ministry… And James graduated this year, did you know?"

"Fortunately, Mrs Potter is a somewhat better correspondent than you…," Severus commented drily. "And how is my namesake? I hope he's had the good sense to drop his terrible first name?"

Harry gave him an amused look. "_Albus_ Severus is doing very well, thank you. At least, I _think_ he is, although we tend to hear most about him from Ron, via Rose. Did you know that Ron was getting remarried, by the way?"

Hermione linked her arms through both men as they walked towards the house. "Yes, Ginny mentioned it. I'm so glad, I know he went through a terrible time when Susan died. I wish we could have been there…"

Harry stopped her with his hand on her arm. "Please, _don't_, Hermione. We do understand – we respect your decision to stay private all these years."

Severus stopped by the door. "And no one knows still? Apart from you and the Weasleys?"

"As far as the world is concerned, Hermione Granger died by the hand of a rogue Death Eater while trying to save the life of Severus Snape, who was posthumously decorated for his bravery. No one knows what became of your bodies, but your names are on the Wall of Remembrance by the lake at Hogwarts. Next to each other, incidentally." He smiled. "Not by my doing, but I thought you might appreciate the irony."

Hermione and Severus glanced at each other and laughed. She smiled at Harry. "You must be tired from your journey. Did you apparate direct? Let me get you a drink… and are you staying for dinner?"

They sat in the shady garden late into the warm summer evening, sipping wine. Hermione was eager to hear about old friends; rejoicing and weeping over good and bad news. Severus wanted to know about the school and who would be replacing Minerva, who had recently announced her intention to retire at the relatively young age of 95. He couldn't blame her; he had had no desire to return to Hogwarts himself, even if things had been different.

Harry watched them curiously, noting the surreptitious little brushes of hands and thighs as they sat side by side, looking over their garden and the view beyond. His old friend and his old professor looked deeply content. He'd often wondered why they'd never had children, but had finally come to the conclusion that they were too deeply and happily entwined in their research and development of new potions to even think about adding to their family. That they were a 'family' was certain. A very different family from the Weasleys and from his own bustling little home, but a family nonetheless.

Severus gave a satisfied sigh, looking around at the little white cottage, the neat rows of plants and herbs stretching up the hillside behind them, then he stood up and moved towards the lip of the hill, gazing down at the valley, at the thin stream that trickled down towards the village.

"This was mine, you know, before the battle. I bought it with my savings; it wasn't much. Just a ruin set among untended ground. After Hermione visited me – that time at Hogwarts – I did some thinking. I remembered visiting this place years ago, while collecting plant samples. I knew it would be perfect for what I had in mind. So I came here, found the owner and bought it. I made plans. In the Head's office at Hogwarts, late at night, when I wasn't preparing potions to save my own life, or trying to keep the Carrows away from the children, or trying to pacify the Dark Lord… I sat and dreamed and made my plans. I thought it might be years before I could do what I wanted to, or possibly even never. " He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione, his eyes very dark. "I made plans for that eventuality too."

Harry remembered the letter addressed to Hermione that he had found in the Headmaster's office. He looked at Hermione, who stood, filled the wine glasses again, picked up two of them and moved towards her husband. She stood next to him, her shoulder leaning into his arm.

He looked down at her, then lifted his arm and put it around her, pulling her close to him. Harry swallowed, feeling as if he was intruding upon a private moment. He wondered briefly whether to slip away, but then Severus began to speak again, clearly addressing his comments to their visitor.

"Well, you know what happened when you found us, after Hermione saved my life. We sold Spinners End and used the money to rebuild the house and dig up the land. This… this is my dream…"

Harry walked slowly over to join them in gazing at the view. "And you? What's _your_ dream, Hermione?"

She glanced at him then turned and smiled up at the tall dark man by her side. His eyes, as they looked at her, were as soft as Harry had ever seen them.

"This _is_ my dream, Harry."

"Isn't it a little quiet? Dull, even?"

Hermione and Severus shrugged in tandem – Harry noticed that they seemed to do most things together, almost as if, during their years of close proximity, they had choreographed their own private movements. He assumed that if you worked together in a small laboratory with volatile substances, you learned to move around each other in a carefully choreographed way. He glanced back at the small unassuming cottage – hard to believe that it contained a world-class laboratory that produced some of the most highly regarded potions known to wizard. Clearly, they had magicked the building to be bigger on the inside than on the outside. He didn't know – in all the years he'd been visiting them, as one of their few contacts with the outside world, he'd never been invited inside, and he'd been careful to respect their privacy.

"Dull?" Hermione repeated. "Maybe a little at times. But there's a wonderful library in Granada, and the conditions are perfect here for what we do."

"Hmm…" He looked out over the valley, carefully avoiding their gaze. "You know, there's a Healers' conference in Glastonbury in October. Could be a good opportunity to make an announcement. And your skills would be very welcome in Britain, you know."

Severus tensed immediately. Hermione sighed. "Oh, Harry, I don't know… All the publicity. You and Ron coped well, but it must have been so hard, those first years."

He put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "Things have calmed down a lot since then. Ginny is now editing the Prophet –did she tell you that, by the way? Once Lily left for Hogwarts, she rose up through the ranks very quickly – was bored with the kids being away from home. Between us, she and I could control any publicity you get. "

There was a silence. He sighed. "Look, Hermione, Severus. We all understand why you've kept hidden away all these years, but don't you think it's time to give the wizarding world a chance again? It's a whole new generation; they only remember Severus as a great hero." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Severus wince. "There's nothing to stop you carrying on your work here, you know. Neville would give anything to have you as a guest lecturer at the school. Why not train up an apprentice? Perhaps you could offer an apprenticeship scheme? And you can expand the business into Britain, then. I know you export your potions to other parts of Europe – I know all this is just a cover for the real work you do."

Severus laughed out loud – a free, easy-going guffaw of a laugh, very different from the dark sneers of the Potions professor he remembered. "What _don't _you know about us, Harry Potter?"

He grinned. "Well, I have a great team of aurors, headed up by one Mr Ron Weasley. You didn't think Ron wouldn't have kept a close eye on you over the years? Did you think we really believed that you'd choose to retire to a small village and do no potions research at all?"

Severus shrugged and pulled his wife into his side again. They gazed over the view.

"Maybe he's right; maybe it _is_ time…"

"Hmm…" was her only reply.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Harry laughed gently into the approaching darkness. "Shall I say it or will you?"

Hermione and Severus looked at each other for a moment, before Hermione spoke. "I will…" They turned as one to Harry and clinked glasses with him. "To Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Severus Snape … who chose to live…"

As the couple drank, Harry turned away slightly, adding his own toast. "… and to the bravest man I ever knew," he whispered.

They stood together, drinking as the evening darkened and the bright stars appeared over the little village.


	4. Chapter 4

_Text at the beginning in italics is from the Deathly Hallows. And all characters belong to JKR of course._

_And finally, here's epilogue 3 – which is how I think things probably would have turned out – very different to the first two, although the text is pretty much the same at the beginning again. Actually, I found this one the hardest to write, not sure why. Anyway, I'd love to know which version you liked best (hint hint)!_

"_Look … at … me…" he whispered._

_The green eyes found the black…_

In the end, it was Hermione who stood by, watching in horror as Harry collected the substance in a flask. And it was Hermione who pushed Harry aside and fumbled frantically at the collar of Snape's robes.

She breathed out hard when she saw the glint of the silvery chain against his thin neck. "Thank god, oh thank god – you did it, you clever man!" With shaking fingers, she found the vial with the stopper and twisted it around, clasping the unconscious professor's shoulder with her other hand.

There was just time to glance over her shoulder at the astonished boys. "I'll try to get back when I can… I'm so sorry, I can't explain now –" and then she felt the dizzying sensation of the portkey. It slammed them down on the ground hard somewhere just outside Hogsmeade, and Hermione felt Severus grunt in pain. Blood gushed from the wound in his neck, as she tapped the vials to enlarge them. There were 3 – one she recognised as essence of dittany and poured it liberally over his wound.

It was unclear what the other 2 were, but the man was clearly fading fast, so she took a deep breath, grabbed the back of his head to steady him, and poured them both into his gaping mouth.

She dropped the vials, gathered his head onto her lap and gazed down at him in despair… that turned to hope as his pulse started again and he began to gasp for air.

20 years later, a village outside Granada in Spain.

The local children called him a wizard – which was ironic, all things considered, as it had been years since he'd done any real magic – in public, at least. His magic was in his healing. He had power that even the local doctors respected, even though they did not understand it.

He was a foreigner, of course, even though he'd been living in this village for at least 15 years. The villagers treated him with some suspicion, but despite that, would tramp up the dusty hill to his small house whenever they had a complaint that modern medicine couldn't fix. His poultices soothed their arthritic shoulders; his herbal medicines cured coughs and fixed poorly stomachs. He had even attended difficult births when asked; had pulled forth distressed infants that might not have otherwise survived their traumatic arrivals into the world. And he had gentled the last days and moments of people leaving this world.

He was occasionally seen about the village, shopping or strolling around. He was polite but taciturn and occasionally moody – in appearance tall and thin with straggly dark hair, turning slightly grey. He spoke fluent Spanish, but his pale skin spoke of a much cooler climate.

He had relatively few friends. There was a small wizarding community in Granada, and he occasionally made the journey there to sit in a café with them. They would discuss the latest news in their world – new Ministry regulations; Harry Potter's ascent to power. As far as his friends were concerned, he had been at Hogwarts and had played a small role in the battle over Voldemort, but no one knew who he really was.

He made these trips by car - happy to travel by Muggle means, having been brought up partly in that world.

It was a rusty old car, but it served him well. He turned off the main road and moved slowly, carefully down the stony, dusty track into the village. He lived just above the village, with a good view over the valley, in a position with reasonable precipitation and good soil for his plants. The house sat low against the hillside; the back of it actually built into the hill, which kept the rooms cool in the heat of summer and cosy in winter.

He parked the car at the side of the house, jumped out and paused. There were footprints in the dust – not a local; they had the tread of designer walking boots. He hesitated then walked forward quietly, his hand drifting towards his wand tucked in his jeans pocket, just in case…

As he turned the corner, he could see a small, slim woman with curly hair pulled back in a practical pony tail, standing by his front door, her back to him, looking out over the valley. He stopped, a lump forming. He'd know that figure anywhere.

"Hermione…" He choked on the name, but she heard him and turned around, looking at him cautiously.

The years had been kind to her. She must be 38 but looked 25. Still straight and slim, but motherhood had made her slightly curvier than before. Her face was slightly blank; she had learnt to hide her emotions behind a serene mask.

"Severus." Her voice had grown slightly husky with maturity, or maybe it was a sign of emotion after all. "How long has it been?"

"Five years." He couldn't believe it, even as he said it. Had it really been that long since their last meeting. "What took you so long?"

She shrugged slightly, averting her eyes. That was new too, whatever else had happened between them over the years, she'd always been honest. Why try to hide her feelings now? She knew she couldn't keep anything from him if she looked into his eyes; not because he'd ever dream of invading her privacy with legilimency, but because he knew her too well.

"Well, you know, the Ministry… And of course James graduated this year. Harry and Ginny are so proud, he finished top of his year, did you know that?"

"Mrs Potter was kind enough to inform me. She is a good correspondent."

"Yes, of course… I forget that you're in touch." She glanced at him, uneasily.

They looked at each other; he was almost afraid to ask his usual question: "So no one knows still? Apart from you, Potter and the Weasleys?"

"As far as the world is concerned, Severus Snape died from Nagini's bite even though Hermione Granger tried to save his life. He was posthumously decorated for his bravery. No one knows what became of your body, but your name is on the Wall of Remembrance by the lake at Hogwarts."

He gave a brief sigh of relief and considered her, noting the weary eyes. "You must be tired, especially if you apparated direct. I know that takes it out of you these days."

As he took her arm to lead her towards the house, she gave a sudden sigh and turned, burying her face against his shoulder. His arms came up automatically, pulling her into him; his face buried in her hair. The scent of it filled his nostrils and he let out a shuddering breath, tightening his grip on her.

After a few moments – or was it hours? – he released her. "Come on. You need a drink and something to eat."

They sat in the shady garden late into the warm summer evening, sipping wine. They spoke in desultory tones about the latest developments in the wizarding world, although she knew he was probably more interested in the stash of new potions journals she had brought with her. She'd neglected her knowledge of the topic over the years – at one time, she'd been a useful sounding board for his theories, but over the years, her interest had waned as she'd had her children and then become more involved in her role as a Ministry lawyer.

Each time they'd met, the conversations had been shorter and the silences between them longer, but somehow it didn't matter.

He finally asked the question that had been on his lips since she'd arrived so unexpectedly. "How is Ron?"

She looked away, quickly. "Oh, he's fine. Did Ginny tell you he was getting married again?"

He nodded. "She did. I know it hasn't been easy for either of you in recent years."

She grimaced. "Well, we always said we'd stay together until Hugo started at Hogwarts. We didn't want him to have to move between two houses. But now it works well – he has them at Christmas, for a big Weasley party, I have them at Easter and we share them over the summer. They usually come to France for a couple of weeks with me, to see mum and dad – oh, did I tell you my parents had sold up and moved to La Rochelle? Actually, they're there now, so I didn't have so far to travel to see you this time."

He made no comment. She sighed. "Anyway, Susan will make a good stepmother. She's a good person… he probably should have married her in the first place."

"So why did he marry you?" _And why did you marry him?_ The unspoken words hung between them.

She looked at him, her brown eyes glittering. "_You know why_."

And he _did_, it was true. Suddenly, he couldn't bear to look at her.

She took a deep breath, stood up and moved towards the lip of the hill, gazing down at the valley, at the thin stream that trickled down towards the village.

"You know, I often imagine you back then, before the battle… I imagine what you felt and did after that night – when I met you at Hogwarts. I imagine you remembering this place, travelling here, buying it without whatever money you could scrape together. I can almost _see_ you in the Headmaster's office, late at night, making your plans, dreaming your dreams. Making your arrangements for when you would be able to do what you wanted to do… or possibly even never. " She glanced over her shoulder at Severus, her eyes very dark. "You made plans for that eventuality too."

They both knew she was thinking of the letter he'd left her in his office – the letter which had also been his will.

"Why didn't you come with me?" he burst out, suddenly. It was something he'd never said over the years; had never dreamed of saying to her.

She'd been one of the few who'd known of his survival, who had actively helped him escape in secret from Wizarding Britain. It was she who'd worked for years to get his name cleared. She who'd visited him so often over the years, to advise, help out, cajole, act as his link to the outside world. He'd known her as an eager young woman who had finally completed her studies, as a Weasley bride glowing with brief happiness, as a wise and practical young mother. And yet, she had continued to arrive, each summer, for 2 weeks. They'd dug the ground together, danced around each other in his small laboratory as she held equipment for him, laughed over late night bottles of wine, shared occasional, always chaste, hugs. She'd never asked him for advice about her marriage, almost as if she'd always known it would be a bad idea, but they'd talked about almost everything else. And then, five years ago, the visits had stopped. And he had never known why, but he had had his suspicions. He had always known, in his heart, that her marriage had been built on shaky foundations. They had been so young, so full of hope in that post-Voldemort world.

He saw her back stiffen at his words. He filled their glasses, picked them up and walked over to her. She kept her eyes averted, but he suspected she was crying silently.

"You know why." Her voice was thick – she was certainly weeping.

He focused his eyes on the horizon. "You didn't come –" he said, carefully, "- because it was the _wrong time, the wrong place… wrong in every way_." Ironic that that had been his thought that night she had approached him at Hogwarts. "You didn't come because you had to stay behind. You had things to do – your education to finish, people who needed you, work to do at the Ministry… And then, when you _could_ have come, it was too late."

She looked up at him, suddenly, the warm brown of her eyes glowing russet in the last rays of the dying sun, and once again he felt himself drowning. He saw the wasted years, the possibilities… the intimacy, the instinctive understanding, the light brushes of hand and shoulder and thigh. All the things that had never been… and would never be. Not now. He knew that; knew it instinctively in his bones.

She smiled at him, reached out her hand. "Shall I say it, or will you?"

"I will..." They clinked glasses. "To Hermione Weasley… a good woman, a fighter for rights and for lost causes…"

"And to Severus Snape… potions master, healer, a good man who chose to live after his death…and the bravest man I ever knew," she whispered in response.

They held hands and drank as the evening darkened and the bright stars appeared over the little village.


End file.
